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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27502507">Che l'uomo il suo destin fugge di raro</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutonianshores/pseuds/plutonianshores'>plutonianshores</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dream Voyeurism, Dubious Consent, Epistolary, F/F, Masturbation, Pre-Canon, Soul Bond</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:15:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,766</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27502507</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutonianshores/pseuds/plutonianshores</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Agnes Montague, in her own words.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Agnes Montague/Gertrude Robinson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Fic In A Box</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Che l'uomo il suo destin fugge di raro</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/fayharley/gifts">fayharley</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><i>Che l'uomo il suo destin fugge di raro</i> - "For rarely any man escapes his destiny"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear Gertrude,</p>
<p>I felt you, when you joined us together. I didn’t know it at the tie, but I heard a voice in my head, a woman who wasn’t me. She was chanting in a language I didn’t understand, holding a charm with a lock of red hair tied around it. As her hand clutched it, I felt the ghost of that hand over my own hair.</p>
<p>When she – you – finished the incantation, you felt me, and I felt you feeling me. Your soul reached out for mine, and came away burned.</p>
<p>It was the first time I’d felt fire like a human being feels fire. (You must have known before you ever started this that I’m not human, not in the ways that matter.) It <em>hurt</em>, and for the first time, I had some idea of what happened to those who had faced my wrath.</p>
<p>Then you withdrew, and the pain faded. But you were still there, iron chains wrapped around my innermost self. I felt these new bonds out, cautiously at first, then exploding with rage as I tried and failed to wrest them apart. You must understand, my strength had never failed me before that day. Nothing could keep me bound, save the destiny I was born into. But here you were, wrapped around me like a cold metal snake, and no amount of my flame could melt you down. I destroyed my bedroom trying.</p>
<p>They told me, later, what you’d done, and who you were. So cautiously, as they always were, afraid to set me off. But I had burned all of my anger out on you, and all that I was left with was questions.</p>
<p>Gertrude Robinson I wanted to find you, but I was afraid of what might happen should we touch. You were my equal and opposite, and I felt that the two of us together might open up a rift in the universe, consuming us and everything in our wake. I shall have to observe you from afar, probing at the places our consciousnesses meet. In spite of myself, I hope I can keep from burning you again.</p>
<p>Yours,</p>
<p>Agnes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dear Gertrude,</p>
<p>You were happy today. I felt laughter well up in my chest, alien and very loud. You had found something, I think. You keep your thoughts shielded, but the emotions cut through. I sat on my bed, laughing like a madwoman, the cadence of my voice echoing yours.</p>
<p>What of myself have you felt, I wonder? Has my frustration at the failure of my plans bled through? My joy at watching the flames? The panic that wells up when I remember how little control I hold over my own fate?</p>
<p>You have a destiny, like me. But unlike me, you chose it. What was it like, to choose? Did you know the bargain you were making, or did you walk into it blindly? You must have known, on some level. The Ceaseless Watcher can be seductive, but I can’t imagine you being fooled. I feel we know each other, Gertrude, although we’ve never met. I haven’t spoken to you, but our souls have touched. It’s a kind of marriage, what you’ve forced on me. We’re tied together, til death do us part. I find myself reaching out for you, taking comfort in the echoes of yourself that you left in me. If nothing else, I’m no longer alone.</p>
<p>Yours,</p>
<p>Agnes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dear Gertrude,</p>
<p>You’ve quite taken to the flame, haven’t you? I’m closer to you, when you lean into the fire. I could see through your eyes when you lit the explosives, and I felt your heart race as you saw that building go up in flames. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The colors, the heat, the way it dances. It’s a shame that it would burn you. I can walk through the flames, feel them caress my skin. It’s gentle, like your mother holding you after a nightmare. Or at least, what I imagine that would feel like.</p>
<p>I didn’t know you before you brought us together, so forgive my assumptions, but I feel this interest in explosives might be my influence. That thrill in your chest, the power of being a bringer of destruction – consider it a gift from me. Or perhaps a gift from the power I serve, although I’m not sure there’s a difference. Whatever fires you light, you’re carrying me with you as you do it.</p>
<p>What have I inherited from you, I wonder? I do get a certain thrill from peeking into your life. You go places I could never follow in body, but you’ve allowed me to trail after you in spirit. I’ve seen your Archives, the endless stacks of papers and those quaint tape recorders. I’ve seen your wariness of the others, and the measures you’ve taken to protect yourself, to keep yourself from being subsumed by the Eye. I say this not as the servant of a rival power but as a human being (such that I am), and, perhaps, a friend – do whatever you can to keep your independence. There’s a loss of something indescribable that comes along when proximity to a power becomes service to that power, a loss I wouldn’t see you endure. We’re two sides of a coin, you and I. Agnes, trapped in a path carved out for her before she was born, and Gertrude, mistress of her own destiny. Stay your own master, my friend. (I feel certain we’re friends, the more I think of you. We’ve quite literally bared our souls to each other.)</p>
<p>Don’t worry that I’ll interfere with your plans. You’ve done well keeping the broader picture from me. I see the pieces, but they fail to come together into a meaningful whole. In my idle daydreams, we meet in person, and you lay out all of your work for me. I know that your plans will more than likely end with me dead, but I do enjoy the fantasy.</p>
<p>Do be careful with the dynamite, though. Those embers will burn, and it would be a shame to mark up your lovely skin.</p>
<p>Yours,</p>
<p>Agnes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dear Gertrude,</p>
<p>I dreamt of you last night. Can it rightly be called a dream, the way I peek into your life? If you didn’t mean to let me see this, please forgive me for the intrusion. But I can’t shake the feeling that you reached out to me, if not consciously. You long for me in the way I long for you. It was far past time for us to consummate this strange marriage.</p>
<p>I could see you, in my mind’s eye. You were sprawled out across your bed, a rare look of contentment on your face. I hardly recognized you without the tightness in your jaw and the furrow in your brow. Your nightgown was as practical as I would expect from you, although you’d left the top buttons undone, giving me a tantalizing view of the curve of your breasts.</p>
<p>You mustn’t think me vulgar, talking like this. I know that you invited me in. The way you pulled your nightgown back to show your chest, the way you bared your neck for me – this was a seduction, Gertrude.</p>
<p>I watched as you cupped your breast in your hand, rolling your nipple between your fingers, and I felt it as if you were touching <em>me</em>. It won’t surprise you to learn that I’m a virgin. Even if I’d had the chance to meet someone, I could never let them touch me. But here, in my dreams, you could do as you wished with me. Perhaps someday we can come together like this, touch each other through our bond, but even watching you pleasure yourself was revelatory.</p>
<p>You traced your hand down your belly, sliding it between your thighs. You sighed as you slipped your fingers between your lower lips, and I could see how wet you were already. This wasn’t a perfunctory toss-off before bed. No, you were taking your time, relishing every moment. It does bring me comfort to know that you’re taking time for yourself, Gertrude.</p>
<p>All of you was laid out before me, the nightgown a mere figleaf at this point, and I could barely tear my eyes away from your face. The way your lips parted, the way your eyelids fluttered – I’m going to hold on to these memories.</p>
<p>Your hand worked at your clit, your back arching as you sped up your motions. I could see myself between your thighs, mouth on your clit. I ached with longing. Your other hand moved from your breast to your pussy, fingers plunging into yourself as you gasped. I imagined my own hand in its place, the way you would yield around me, the soft warmth of you. I imagine it’s something like the embrace of the flames, the feeling of being inside someone else. We’ve already shared so much intimacy, and yet the lack of this one kind of closeness tore at me.</p>
<p>Your back arched again, and you bit back a shout. Your whole body shook with pleasure. Did you have a reason to keep quiet? Or did you simply fear the vulnerability that noises bring? I could make you shout, if I were there in body as well as spirit. You slumped back against the bed, nightgown still askew, breathing slowing. I wanted more than anything to curl up against you, feeling your heartbeat against my cheek.</p>
<p>I woke up wet and aching, my hand already between my legs. I brought myself off thinking of you, imagining your hand on my chest, in my hair, buried in my pussy.</p>
<p>I wondered if you were watching, in your own dreams.</p>
<p>Yours,</p>
<p>Agnes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dear Gertrude,</p>
<p>We were never going to meet. I know that now. I've known it all along, really, but I'd deluded myself into thinking otherwise. Were you to track me down, it would be to put an end to me, just as you've done to so many other servants of so many other gods. Lucky, then, that I've kept my letters to myself. It wouldn't do to reveal too much.</p>
<p>As much as my destiny chafes, it is <i>mine</i>, and it's time I followed it. At least, as best as I can with these bindings you've put on me. I'd wish you godspeed on your mission, but I know you wouldn't do the same for me. Goodbye, Gertrude.</p>
<p>Yours,</p>
<p>Agnes.</p>
<p>
  <i>Agnes held the letter in her hand as it burned to ashes, spreading them across her palm. Somewhere far away, Gertrude felt a pang of sorrow.</i>
</p>
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